El Dia de los Difuntos
(The Day of the Dead)

(Information for this article provided by Ignacio Ochoa, director of the Nahual Foundation, a think tank by and for indigenous people of the Americas.)

Mahatma Gandhi wrote that “strength does not come from physical capacity.  It comes from an indominatable will.”  Our time in Guatemala attests to this observation when it involves the remarkable resilience of her indigenous people.

The Spanish conquistadors pummeled their way through Central America in the 15th century for the benefit of the king and the glory of Christ.  Historians might differ on whether the priority was grabbing riches or saving souls, but the net effect was the almost complete destruction of the Mayan civilization that had dominated the area for 2000 years.  On the surface, the endeavor appears to be successful with cultural determinants coalescing around the Spanish language and Catholicism.  However, there exists a subculture of spirituality very prevalent throughout the country that underscores Gandhi’s sentiment.  The Mayans may have deferred to their Christian conquerors, but many of their ancient rituals remain viable. We have witnessed two such phenomenon – the summer solstice Dance of the Deer (see article in the archives of Up Jinks Journal) and, more recently, The Day of the Dead on November 1.

El Dia de los Difuntos coincides annually on November 1 with All Saints Day of the Catholic Calendar.  A pre-Columbian Mayan practice, the celebration focuses on remembering one's ancestors by decorating their graves and flying huge paper kites above the cemeteries.  The rituals are rife with spiritual symbolism which acknowledges the importance of heritage in the life of the Maya. 

At the end of last October, we were in Antigua for a second round of Spanish school  We had scheduled classes at that time in hopes of catching some of the festivities of El Dia de los Difuntos.  Our good friends, Gene Budinger and Judy Sadlier, invited us to join them for the day.  They arranged for us to tour the huge public cemetery in the morning and then travel by van with a group going to Santiago Sacatepequez for the kite festival. 

After having a delicious breakfast at Café Condesa on the western side of the central square, we strolled towards the cemetery further west and a little south of the city market.  The morning mist so characteristic in Antigua evaporated early, leaving the crystal blue sky as a canvas for the extraordinary palette of colors we would find within the walls of the cemetery.

A steady reverent stream of activity greeted us.  In every direction, people diligently knelt on the damp earth arranging long stems of flowers in tomb urns, or dipped personal buckets into large random drums of water to take back to their worksite, or climbed ladders high up the two-story mausoleum to hang an arrangement for someone on a hook marking a burial drawer.This had been going on since before dawn.  Some plots displayed elaborate and expensive creations commensurate with the grandeur of the grave itself.  Others bore simple plastic wreath costing nor more than a few quetzals.

In one section of the cemetery, a rough mound with only a stick for a headstone defined the last resting place of some poor soul.  Two morning glories commemorated his passing.

They were all there – the young, the old, the rich, the poor, the strong, the infirm – every one unified in the common pursuit of honoring their ancestors and departed family members.  It was a humbling reminder that death treats us all the same. I marveled at the concept of a culture that would devote an entire day away from work, school and household demands to recognize the significance of the dead in the cycle of life.

Around ten o’clock, we left the cemetery and hiked past the market to meet our party for the ride over to Santiago Sacatepequez.  This trek would normally take about thirty minutes, but on El Dia de los Difuntos, the 5000 or so year-round population of Santiago swells to over 50,000, virtually strangling the sole two-lane road leading in and out of town.  It took our two vans an hour to get us to a drop-off point where we would walk another two miles to the cemetery.

The scene was chaotic for the entire stretch. Vendors lined the streets selling everything from tennis shoes to roasted corn to the latest kites. Organ grinders sin monos pumped their instruments hoping for tips. Pedestrians dodged each other until periodic bottlenecks momentarily stopped all appreciable movement.Somehow the flow of humanity unclogged and the crowd would slug along once again.

At a bend in the road, carnival rides begged for takers.  An ancient Ferris wheel, which looked like it might have been originally assembled in another life sometime early in the 20th century, balanced precariously on cement blocks. It turned determinedly with the steady drone of a deisel engine mounted on an exposed stand at the base.  A representative from OSHA would have had a heart attack and died right on the spot. 

It took about an hour to finally begin the steady climb up a hill to the cemetery.  It was here that we caught our first sight of the kites. Hundreds of feet above us, the colorful circles of tissue paper whirled and bobbed in the wind, balanced by their tails of woven cloth and guided by fishing line.

For hundreds of years, Mayans have used kites as a ceremonial means to connect with their ancestors.  The kite’s construction reflects the association with nature characteristic of the culture and the ritual of flight embodies the deep belief in the metaphysical.  All kite materials are natural.  Flour from the yucca plant is mixed with pieces of lemon peel and water to form the glue.  The ropes are actually made from maguey, the plant from which tequila is extracted.  Frames for small kites consist of woven stalks of castilla, a plant similar to wheat. The largest frames are made from bamboo gathered on the coast.   

Kites can vary in size and shape.  Circular frames range from 3 to 15 meters in diameter.  Diamonds can get up to 10 meters.  Regardless of the shape, all display ornate designs constructed from brightly colored, thin tissue paper. Patterns and themes are derived from ancestral Mayan culture.

Symbolically, kites fly to offer the spirit of an ancestor a route from heaven back into this world.  Some people attach hand-written messages to the tails as guides for the souls in their journey.  All day long, flyers wait for wind to send the spiritual summonses. Around 4 in the afternoon, kites are rolled in and everyone returns home to await the arrival of the souls. 

Before sunrise the morning of November 2, the people move toward the cemetery with candles so the spirits can return to their celestial home.  The giant kites rise one final time to guide the spirits back to heaven.  Later, during the evening of the 2nd, kites that were torn by the winds are burned inside the cemetery, the smoke supposedly rounding up any vagabond spirits and showing them the route back.

As we entered the cemetery, hundreds of people milled around showing little reverence for graves, using many instead for seats with a better view or places to stand for launching kites.It was an eclectic mix.  Stately raven-haired Mayan girls in their colorful native blouses watched the festivities right next to a bevy of American college students utilizing halter tops and rolled up pants to grab a tan.  Gringo tourists sucked on cervazas while children licked ice cream cones.Trinket salesmen roamed the crowd in search of someone to buy a balloon or a feathered noisemaker.  Somehow, the flowers which earlier had been placed on the graves to honor the dead seemed to have weathered the stampede.

The wind seemed finicky.  Very few new kites joined the legion already floating placidly overhead.  Four young people stood atop a mausoleum in front of us wrestling with a frame while their kite handler darted through the graves, dodging headstones and humanity alike, releasing fishing line as he went.The kite rose up with initial gusto only to come crashing down on the spectators below, sending them scattering to avoid the full weight of its 3-meter span.  After three more attempts, the kite finally caught enough wind to stay airborne. 

The cemetery sloped down away from us into a flat grassy area.  Several ceremonial barriletes (giant kites) were displayed on the opposite side.They stood over five-stories high; intricate works of art never intended to fly.  One of them evoked a global warming theme.  Another commemorated the 108th anniversary of the Santiago Sacatepequez festival.  They were stunning in their size and brilliance.

Our group had determined to meet at the vans around 2:00 PM.  The encounter coming in made us realize that it would take at least an hour to make the trek back. We left the cemetery around 1:00.  If possible, the street was even more congested than before.  From a stage just outside the cemetery, loud speakers projected the voice of a game show host questioning contestants in a Spanish version of “The Dating Game.”  Blow-up beer bottle balloons festooned the area.  I thought to myself, what the conquistadors hadn’t demolished of this ancient custom, commercialism surely would   It took every bit of the hour to retreat.

That evening, as I prepared for bed, I found myself reflecting on the day.  The overwhelming thought was how I wish I could have witnessed Santiago Sacatepequez years ago before commercial bedlam overwhelmed it.  I would love to have experienced the pure concept of communicating with my ancestors through the medium of a kite; to have extended an invitation for a reunion of souls with those that I loved by tying written messages on its tail.  I also hoped that the “indominatable will” of the Mayan people would prevail against all of the “physical capacity” of the modern world; where their reverence for nature and ancestry would hold sway against the forces of the future which tend to create a culture of amalgam rather than diversity.  May their resilience triumph once again as it has done over the centuries.

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